


the angel do so to me

by leov66



Series: facilis descensus averno [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shadowhunter Chronicles Fusion, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parabatai Bond, implied minor character death, mention of nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:38:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: 'I've never had a real friend before,' the smaller boy says.'Me neither, but I like you,' the other one replies.It's a beautiful beginning.the story of enjolras and combeferre's early years, leading up to the moment they becomeparabatai.





	the angel do so to me

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!!:) yes, this is a tmi/shadowhunters au (based off the books!!) 
> 
> before you read, if you arent familiar with the series, i suggest you visit the [ shadowhunters wiki!! ](http://shadowhunters.wikia.com/wiki/The_Shadowhunters%27_Wiki)
> 
> you will find all the information there:) to cut things short, _parabatai_ are shadowhunters who are (platonically) bound to each other with an oath and matching Marks. they fight together and feel each others' emotions. its usually very rare for a shadowhunter to find a person worthy of being their _parabatai_
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy!!!!:)

Two boys run through the streets of Alicante. The war is over and their world is at peace.

 

'I've never had a real friend before,' the smaller boy says. His hair is a halo of gold and his eyes are blue like a clear sky. They glow against the bronze of his skin and if there's ever been an angel, this is how it should present itself.

 

'Me neither, but I like you,' the other one replies. He's taller by a head and his eyes are the same shade of chocolate as his skin.

 

It's a beautiful beginning.

 

 

 

Enjolras' weapon of choice is an old-fashioned sword and Combeferre isn't surprised at all. He holds his daggers tight as they make one circle after another, each waiting for the other to initiate combat.

 

They spar together and the woman supervising them says their fighting styles complete each other. It's a warm, fuzzy feeling in Enjolras' chest and it causes him trouble falling asleep that night.

 

 

 

They sit next to each other in Latin and History and they always help each other. It's always easy to practice for exams when you've got somebody to correct your pronounciation and lend you their notes.

 

 

 

'And this one, it's the Scorpio,' Combeferre says, pointing in a vague direction. 'Or at least that's what this book says.'

 

Enjolras scrunches his nose and zips up his jacket. 'Are you sure you're holding the book properly?'

 

'Oh, yeah, I've been holding it upside down. That's why the Pegasus looked like a snail...'

 

 

 

('My sister's written me a letter from Japan, look!', Combeferre exclaims, sitting right next to Enjolras and shoving a piece of paper in the boy's tired face. It's very early in the morning and he's stayed up almost all night reading a particularly interesting book. He takes the letter and scans through it, giving his friend a smile, or at least an attempt of a smile.

 

'What's wrong, Enjolras?', Combeferre says with a worried expression. All he wanted was to share the excitement. His sister had begun travelling after her eighteenth birthday and had been gone for almost ten months now, and every bit of information from her left him more excited and curious about his own journey.

 

'No one writes me letters,' the boy says, with his head down and his voice full of embarassment. 'My parents are dead and I have no siblings. The head of the New York Institute was my mother's friend and she took me in.'

 

The way he says it makes Combeferre's heart sink in his chest. _He's only twelve and he's already gone through too much,_ he realizes.

 

'But you've got me,' he says, and there's no pity because he knows better than that.

 

'I do,' Enjolras replies, and this time there's an actual smile.)

 

 

 

Combeferre always has paper cuts on his fingers from all the hours he spends at the library and Enjolras' _iratze_ are surprisingly powerful. He's grateful for them, and he's grateful for the coffee they drink in the morning after staying up together, going through books old and new, romances, dramas and biographies.

 

 

 

'Look, I know you're worried, but I'm the only one who's able to defeat you in combat. And you could probably recite the _Metamorphoses_ at three in the morning,' Enjolras says upon entering his room.

 

'And you're the most humble person on the planet, huh,' is all Combeferre says, but there's a weak smile on his face and two cups of hot chocolate in Enjolras' hands.

 

 

 

(It's very late, they both know that, but it's Combeferre's fourteenth birthday and the stars are so bright they can't bring themselves to sleep just yet.

 

'Jonathan and David, they were _parabatai_. Two souls bound together, two halves of one whole.'

 

Enjolras' voice is certain and sure, it's obvious he's planned it for some time now.

 

'I've been thinking about it, and the decision is yours, but,'

 

He fidgets with the family ring on his finger like he always does whenever he's nervous.

 

'I want to be your _parabatai_ , and you to be mine.')

 

 

Sometimes, Enjolras can't sleep at night. Nightmares of his parents dying over and over, the Paris Institute's walls stained with their blood, demons' faces, grinning at him as he watches them destroy his home keep him awake and afraid, waking him up every time, sweat-stained and breathing heavily.

 

Combeferre knows, and never asks questions, only tucks him back in and, more often than not, lies with him. It becomes a routine throughout the years. They practically live in each other's rooms.

 

 

 

Enjolras is there when Combeferre kills his first demon. They're fourteen and scared but the angel blood in their veins boils and stirrs, filling them with strength and determination. Their instructor is proud and happy, but all Enjolras sees is the paleness of his friend's face and the way his hands can't stop shaking.

 

 

 

Shadowhunters are free to believe in whatever they wish, as long as they worship Raziel and don't oppose the Clave. Some choose not to believe in anything. Combeferre chose to only believe in what he sees. Enjolras, on the other hand-

 

'Do you think God abandoned us?', he asks, a golden rosary in his scarred, dark hands. It's the anniversary of his parents' death, and he always gets like this that day. He spends hours at church, trying to pray as honestly as he can without unleashing all his fury and bitterness at the silent altar. Combeferre used to come with him, hoping it would help put him at peace, but he gave up after two years.

 

'I don't know, Enjolras,' he answers honestly.

 

 

 

(They're fifteen, and the ground is on fire. The Council stares at them and so does the rest.

 

_'_ _Entreat me not to leave thee,_

_Or return from following after thee—_

_For whither thou goest, I will go,_

_And where thou lodgest, I will lodge._

_Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God._

_Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried._

_The Angel do so to me, and more also,_

_If aught but death part thee and me._ _'_

 

The flames rise higher and the Marks they've placed upon each other burn brighter than the sun.)

**Author's Note:**

> **comments and kudos keep me motivated! thanks!**
> 
>  
> 
> talk to me on my [ tumblr ](https://euphra-sie.tumblr.com)!!:)


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